


Third Time's the Charm

by spun_foonerisms



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, College AU, College Student Peter Parker, Explicit Language, Mild Smut, Other, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Reader Insert, college!Peter Parker, gender neutral reader, peter parker x gender neutral reader, peter parker x reader - Freeform, peter parker/gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-19 16:25:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11901591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spun_foonerisms/pseuds/spun_foonerisms
Summary: Gender neutral reader meets Peter at their first year of college, they fall for him fast and hard. Unfortunately, fairytale love doesn't yield a fairytale relationship. It takes a while to get things right. (Lots of profane language but I'm a profane person so uh.)





	1. Round One, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mood for this chapter is this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojYK6CW8gdw

 When you two first met, you didn’t really. Like some cosmic joke you didn’t notice him. It was your first year of college; you’d been accepted into a private university a ways south of where you lived. It was a fresh start, and you were nervous. You had just broken up with your long distance boyfriend of almost 3 years, none of your friends were even in the same state as you, and you were too socially inept to form connections in the incoming students facebook group. Still, school was your way out. When you arrived on campus in the twilight of summer’s reign, it felt like you’d stepped into a new world.

You and Peter shared a class you were fundamentally disinterested in, a class you only took because you expected it would force you to hike and thereby keep off The Dreaded Freshman Fifteen. Except you didn’t hike for the first few months. You analyzed book after book and the soul-changing importance of The Wilderness ( _which neither you nor your classmates ever actually read_ ) and tried to pretend you cared about the material. With all the bullshit in that room it could’ve been a farm. The most enjoyable part was when you successfully conned the professor into believing you knew what you were talking about. When his dead eyes lit up with the hope that someone actually gave a shit, you almost felt guilty for lying so blatantly. Almost. Mainly, you sat. You doodled half a sketchbook of boredom. You answered questions and left. It wasn’t until you were formally introduced that you really _saw_ him.

You had actually forgotten he was in that class. Your eyes were down in your sketchbook too often to remember the names of more than three of your classmates, aside from your roommate, Katherine. Fucking Katherine. In the absence of other social avenues, you started spending time with Ned Leeds, who you’d been paired with in freshman orientation. You liked Ned. There was something contagious about the way he laughed and his earnest honesty. The two of you reveled in your shared geekery, laughing in the library until you were kicked out. Between heated crossover debates, Ned talked about his best friend. “Oh my god you’ve got to meet my best friend, he’s my roommate so obviously he lives in our dorm and he’s so great!!! Like he’s so smart, and he’s hilarious, and he likes all the same stuff as you! You’re going to love him.” Ned’s natural enthusiasm, especially when he talked about Impeccable Peter ( _as you called him before you knew him_ ) that made you think maybe this mystery guy was worth your time.

“Alright Coolcat, whatever you say.”

Ned didn’t know how right he was. You were captivated at the first sight of Peter. On top of his razor-sharp wit, he was gorgeous. He was lanky, but you could see he had enough muscle to be stronger than average. For how built he was, you were surprised that he was only a little taller than you ( _probably just tall enough to rest his chin on your head_ ). His hair was a soft shade of brown that seemed just perfect for him. It lay in relaxed, flowing curls ( _wild curls when he got up late_ ) and seemed to glow in the sun. His reflexes were more than catlike ( _hot_ ). He had these beautiful warm brown eyes that crinkled when he smiled, and he spoke with such genuine excitement in it that you thought he might be kinda dumb at first. How could anyone live for almost two decades and still be happy? But here he was. There he was.

Peter introduced himself with a nervous ruffle of his hair and the sweetest smile you’d ever seen. “Hey, uh, I’m Peter. Peter Parker. I know we’re in the same class and I probably should’ve talked to you already, like- I’ve seen you around and all but we- I never-“ A breath. “I’m sorry- Uh, Ned told me about you. Hi.” His face was a bit pink. Thank god he was awkward too, thank god there was something to balance out those looks, or you’d be on the floor by now. Even then you could only smile back until Ned nudged you.  
            “Oh! I’m (y/n). Yeah I- I’ve seen you around too. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself before either, I just. I never socialize in the dorm anyway, what with homework and all and um. I don’t talk to anyone in the class because-” would this be too harsh? Whatever. “I just. I can’t stand that class.” Peter raised his eyebrows. Shit! You scrambled. “I don’t hate it or anything! I um- I spend the whole 2 hours thinking about leaving so like- It’s not like the professor is bad or anything you know? Shit’s just boring. No hiking, no action and- Fuckin… _Katherine_ and her _weak_ answers.” He laughed, surprised. Good. Laughter was good.

“You’re her roommate right?” He laughed again ( _it bubbled up from his chest and lodged in your heart_ ). “Even her roommate can’t stand her? Thank god I’m not the only one. I don’t think her mouth has an off switch. If you’re gonna bullshit, bullshit _right_ , right? ”

“RIGHT?” You fell into bantering about Katherine and the class reading material, mainly how much of a boner your instructor had for The Wilderness as a concept. “If you love solitude so much, why don’t you fuck it, dude?” You laughed until your sides hurt. After a few minutes, his face suddenly lit up

“Wait, Ned says you draw. Can I see?”

 ---

The first time Peter rejected you, he didn’t. Not exactly. Ned told you he’d had sex with an acquaintance of yours, clearly excited to gossip. As Peter’s self-proclaimed wingman, it was a personal victory, even if he _technically_ wasn’t there. If it were anyone else, you would’ve been right there with him. It was freshman year after all, surely now was the time to _get it_. Horny teens + freedom = hookups. It made sense. This was Peter though. Something about this felt like a personal failure. Though you’d thought about Peter having sex many times ( _you were only human_ ) it burned to imagine him like that with someone else. On top of that, the girl he slept with was way hotter than you. Not in a self-deprecating way, like, objectively. She wore corsets and it actually suited her. Her makeup was incredible. She spoke in these low dulcet tones that could’ve seduced you if you weren’t so hung up on Peter. Hell, she could’ve seduced a rock if she put her mind to it. There was a joke about rock hard in there somewhere. Heh. She walked like a model. If he’d had sex with _her_ you had less of a chance than a snowball in hell. Here was this gorgeous boy you couldn’t get enough of, why would he have any sexual (let alone romantic) interest in you? He was way, waaaay out of your league. You already knew that, but somehow the confirmation hurt anyway.

Ironically, once it hurt to look at him, you started seeing Peter everywhere. If this was fate’s idea of a prank it had a cruel sense of humor. He began to sit next to you in class and whisper little quips into your ear every few minutes. Peter was suddenly at the dining hall despite previously relying entirely on care packages from his Aunt May. You saw him behind your closed eyes when you were alone. This was fucking crazy. _You’ve known him for like three weeks, chill out_. The two of you made half-assed plans that never came to life. Things like, “We should see a movie some time.” “Do you wanna get lunch?” “I got this face mask from target, try it with me!” You drifted despite your best efforts. It had to be him who accepted your offers, you decided. He had to _choose_ you. You were mostely friendless at the time, with nobody but Fucking Katherine and her vapid friends for company (Ned had somehow joined every club possible and wasn’t around much anymore). You were sure Katherine’s friends were good people somewhere underneath, but you’d heard enough “I identify as an Attack Helicopter” jokes to seriously doubt it. At least they were charitable, in their own way. They reached out to you because of pity, you knew. As summer breathed its last, so did their offers.

 ---

When Peter stretched out his hand again you took it like you were drowning. To be fair, you might as well have been. The whole no-support-system-in-a-completely-new-environment thing will do that to a person. He asked you for help on his statistics homework. He was a biochem major, what business did he have not knowing math? He stuttered for a little when you asked. Finally he said, “It’s really weird, yknow? It’s not what I’m used to.” You gave him a pointed look.

“You went to Midtown High, right? You got that full ride scholarship?”

“Yeah but I-! I was pretty distracted from the curriculum. Listen, science makes sense, science has tangible reasoning. I know why molecules make the compounds they do! They fit. Math is like- it’s so- it’s not grounded. Do you know what I mean?”

You definitely didn’t know what he meant. Firstly, math had always been as intuitive as walking to you. Math was the most objective thing you could think of. Math was a beautiful construct of the human mind to explain natural phenomena, a carefully constructed god of reason. …So maybe you were up your ass a little about math. That was probably why he’d asked you. Secondly, there was no way he wasn’t able to do statistics. There was every way he wasn’t able to lie. You didn’t say no. The next five days were spent by his side morning, noon, and night. “Helping” with homework turned into watching pirated shows together, turned into late sleepovers in his room, turned into waking up and getting breakfast together ( _his voice was low and lazy in the morning, his hair was a mess.),_ you even left your toothbrush in his room you slept over so often.

When you finally asked him about what Ned told you, he flung his head back in frustration ( _mmf_ _his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed)._ “God, I _told_ him not to- (y/n) look, nothing happened.” You put on a face you decided was _reasonably_ surprised, most certainly _not_ anticipatory or ecstatic. That would be weird. “I was out late- you know I’m not big on sleeping at night- and she was drunk and there were these guys and I helped her to her room and- Ned assumed. Ugh. I’m sorry he said that.” You very carefully Did Not Smile.

After that, every day felt _alive_. Every second you spent with him became brighter. Every erratic hand gesture drew you in ( _they were so strong yet so fluid_ ), every word pulled your heart, when he touched you you kept feeling it for hours afterwards. You found yourself getting lost in his eyes. Ew. You’d always thought that was a thing that only happened in cheesy romance novels, and you were dismayed to see it happen in yourself. How sappy could you get? The time he massaged you, you had to hold back a moan as well as some very indecent requests. His hands were unexpectedly gentle and sure. “I used to do this for May all the time,” he explained. When you first cuddled you thought _I could kiss you right now_ so many times you were worried your pounding heartbeat would start shaking him too. Yes, you cuddled. Yes, it was amazing. He was pretty touchy with Ned too so you figured it came with the _Peter Parker Friendship Package™._

He was so fucking beautiful. Every spare moment you were with him you were watching him. He matched you in everything. Well, aside from statistics, apparently. Either way, nobody had kept up with you until now. Your conversations ranged from the semantics of pet endearments (“No, listen, _every_ dog is a puppy but not _every_ cat is a kitten-“) to the reason the stars were where they were. The idea of a soulmate used to be theoretical to you.

The day you finally kissed him you saw a spectrum of color you’d never seen. It was rainy and grey, the perfect kind of day to settle down with a cup of tea and a terrible tv show. Ned was at physics club and you had just spent the last few hours sitting on his bed “doing homework.” Doing Peter’s homework involved frequent puns (for which the punishment was tickling) and plenty of breaks. You were worried he’d bruise you gave him so many playful punches. He would fall away from you in slow motion, complete with awful movie sound effects. _Dork_. You loved that about him. The thought was almost reflex by now. When you were done, he flopped back onto the covers and said, breathless from a recent tickle attack, “Y/n, uh- heh- I’m- really tired after that onslaught. You’re merciless.” You winked and wobbled your hands threateningly. He laughed in surprise, holding his own hands out in front of him “No! No no no no. No. I’m going to take a nap, if that’s ok.”

This was no surprise, Peter often made up for sleepless nights with drowsy days. “You don’t have to ask permission to nap in your own room your dork. I got you. Sleep well Pete.” It’d be creepy to stay. As you started packing up, his fingers brushed your wrist. Your body wouldn’t let you move. Peter was staring down.

“No, I mean- together… If that’s- if you’re- if you want to…” He trailed off. You held off on a joke about Sleeping Together because this had some _very_ serious implications. Did he…? He was bright red. You couldn’t say no. In half an hour, he had dozed off. You were the big spoon ( _god he was so cute for being the little spoon_ ). Your arm was draped comfortably around his waist and your face was nestled in the crook of his shoulder. He was breathing steadily but try as you might you couldn’t sleep. Not only did you drool in your sleep (embarrassing) but you were too overwhelmed with the reality of the situation to relax. He’d never asked you to sleep _in his bed_ before. Sleepovers were one thing but this… . He woke up about two hours later. When he rolled over, his sleep addled smile greeted your anxious gaze. This meant something right? This was it. You had tried countless times to go through with kissing him, but each time you’d been too scared. Wordlessly, you propped yourself up on one elbow. As you moved closer, he didn’t pull away. He didn’t break eye contact. Not until your lips finally met his. After you pulled away and saw his shit-eating grin, all you could do was bury your face in his chest and laugh. His hands came to rest on the small of your back, holding you tight. It was true! He felt the same. Oh, god, he felt the same. In that husky tone you’d grown familiar with, he whispered, “I’ve been dropping hints for the last five days, (y/n), what took you so long?” 

So of course, when he delivered his first real rejection, you collapsed. How could you have expected it?

It was only three days after he’d asked, “So are we dating?” with his cheeky grin still plastered across his face.

It was only three days since you’d answered him with a slow kiss and a “ _Yes_ , dummy.”

It was only three days since you had shared your first time having sex. You thought that meant he’d stay.

In those three days it turned out he was “not in the right place.” He said, “Can I still be your friend?” He said, “I’m sorry.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes.


	2. Round One, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second in the playlist of Peter Parker Angst Town is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdnVyOe1Pvg

You couldn’t hear him. In that moment you realized you were the most despicable being alive. He must’ve seen something about you that even you didn’t know, some awful thing. If Peter Parker, the most gentle and loving person you’d ever met, didn’t see value in you how on could you be good? The realization that you’d never be enveloped firm hug or feel his lips on your skin or his hair between your fingers again hit your gut hard. Suddenly your beautiful boy had stabbed you. You couldn’t tell the difference between hurt and unfeeling anymore. It took about a day for you to let yourself cry, then another three days crying before the tears stopped. You found yourself venting to sort-of-friends you barely knew before, you found comfort in their kindness. They witnessed you sketching people leaking black blood and writing poetry. Poetry, for god’s sake. You’d laugh at how ridiculous you were if whatever thing controlled laughter wasn’t broken. Laugh machine broke. Ha.

It was two weeks after he dumped you that you actually saw Peter again. You were looking for him this time ( _even his face would be enough_ ), but he had disappeared. He had never disappeared before. Sure, he was busy some days but college is like that, especially for STEM majors. Who was helping him with math now? You couldn’t feel your heart anymore ( _is that numbness or pain_?). You knew Peter was avoiding you, obviously. He didn’t show up in your class anymore. When he showed up again, it was mysterious as his disappearance. No explanation, no nothing. He was his same cheerful self, laughing with others as if the nights and days you spent worrying about his safety had never happened. Oddly, even though you wanted to see him, your body didn’t let you. If you entered an area he was in, your feet took over and auto-piloted you out of it. You didn’t realize there were reflexes for this kind of thing. Once you realized there was no override for this reaction, you hid. You learned his class schedule those first five days, so you were easily able to avoid him. In the one class you couldn’t escape, Peter tried to have casual conversations sometimes. He cracked the same jokes he used to. He’d talk about Ned, and how much he seemed to be loving the exchange trip he was on. When Katherine spent 10 minutes filibustering to the class on a yes or no question, he’d nudge you in that familiar conspiratorial way. This time the fire from his touch burned. How could he do that? Didn’t he remember what he did to you? Logically, you told yourself, you should hate him. The now close friends who had seen you collapse were getting anxious.

To soothe your nerves and theirs, you’d jam with them. On your parent’s insistence, you’d taken a fair share of piano lessons in your childhood. You’d also been in school choir a couple years in high school, so this was no discomfort for you. Jess, the person you leaned on most in the time after Peter had left, usually led. Jess was an English major with a penchant for turning casual conversations into stories. Not that you minded. She felt like moss. It was vague, but you couldn’t quite figure out a more exact way to say it. She was gentle, soothing, and attentive to nature. When you thought of her the thought of soft green plants under golden sunlight always came along. Jess played guitar, shifting lazily through chords and patterns, following what she felt. You felt it too. You hummed along with her, occasionally harmonizing with her or improvising verses. Sometimes you would stop and write them down if you felt them worthy of polishing. It was usually the two of you, but any other friends present would drift in and out with voices and instruments like threads in a tapestry of sound. You’d weave together late into the night, early into the morning.

In those late nights too, you rediscovered yourself. The good parts, this time. In singing with Jess, you remembered how music felt in your soul. You remembered how quick your wit was when you kept your friends laughing for 10 minutes straight. You remembered how much you loved your art as more frequent practice yielded new skills. You discussed your relationship with death with these friends, what you figured your past lives were about, the semantics of whether or not cereal was a type of soup. That was one of the most heated debates you’d ever been in. You learned that Wikipedia is a fake bitch who’s too scared to ante up specifics on this one. Coward. Regardless, you remembered that you were connected with people. On the nights when nobody slept, you re-learned the beauty of the sunrise together. You remembered what you’d thought of yourself before Peter left, and realized that yeah, you were pretty alright. You were pretty alright.

After a week of recovery, of avoiding Peter in a way that could’ve looked like revenge if it weren’t compulsive, you tried again. You were stronger this time, right? Either way, you needed to talk to him. If not for closure, so that he would know how you felt. You felt like the rubber ball secured by elastic to one of those ping pong paddle toys. All, “ **Thump** ( _ow_ ) **thump** ( _ow_ ) **thump** ( _ow_ ).” You knew it would hurt but- there wasn’t really a choice on this one. He had you in his orbit.

The day of your midterm presented the opportunity. It was grey, windy, and biting cold. Fall had settled in fully. How strange that you were more worried about talking to him than about potentially blowing half your grade. You finished the test before him ( _probably to the detriment of your gpa_ ), so you had time to prepare. You settled down, legs dangling over the edge of one of the benches outside the commons. You breathed in the rhythm your friends had taught you- _4 counts in, 7 counts hold, 8 counts out. Keep going. Slowly now_.- You tried to conjure the feel of Jess’ music. Your fingers typed at a glacial pace, with each letter you had to remind yourself not to back out. You texted him the same thing he’d last sent you.

 

 **You** : Peter, we need to talk. I’ll be sitting outside.

 

Whiz kid that he was, Peter arrived very shortly after. He was more disheveled than usual ( _midterms seemed to have taken their toll on him too_ ), and his stupid beautiful eyes were filled with what you decided was pity. You couldn’t look at him after seeing that face. Given what you wanted to tell him, you probably couldn’t have looked at him regardless. Peter sat gingerly on a bench across from you, his hands clasped between his knees. You could only see that much. He said nothing. He was like that. He would always wait for you to say what you needed. Despite psyching yourself up for days, you could barely manage a trembling whisper. Conversations with brain-Peter didn’t have any risks. You thought you’d run out of tears. Peter’s hands gripped each other tighter. After a long silence, you choked out, “I think- I um. You- I-” you took a shuddering breath and let it out as slowly as you could. “I love you.” No reaction. No reaction, but the floodgates were open. “You remember a couple weeks back when… you said you wanted to be friends? I’d like to- I’m going to take you up on it. I don’t… I don't want a life without you in it.” You could feel him lean in.

“Y/n-”

“But.” He froze. Good. Boundaries time. “If you’re willing to be in my life, even as a friend, I need you to be consistent. I can’t handle you disappearing on me like that again. You have no idea what I… look, I… couldn’t stop loving you if I tried, and believe me, I tried.” You lowered your voice further, “I tried so… Just… I’d do anything for you. Anything. Keep that in mind, Peter. I’m at your mercy.” God what a mess. Maybe if you waited long enough you’d wake up and it’d be fake, you pretended. You kept your gaze firmly on the ground.

He bent down, trying meet your eyes. You didn’t move until he untangled his hands and put one hand under your chin ( _kiss him kiss him kiss him_ ), to bring your face up to his stare. He looked at you with that pity again. From anyone else it’d be condescending. Logically, you should hate him. He rested his other hand on your knee. It burned. You’d hate him if you could. You wished you could. His expression twisted that knife he’d left in your gut two weeks ago. His voice was husky, pained. “…You’re shaking.”

You could only give him a wry laugh “Yeah.”


	3. Round Two, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You spent your holidays that year mourning."  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W2TE0DjdNqI

Fall was waning. Peter was your tentative friend, and you swallowed the words “ _I love you_ ” every day. You’d said it once, you knew he knew. The way he never quite met your eyes meant he knew. It never got easier ( _how could it ever be easy_ ), but you got more used to it. Built a tolerance. He played cello, you learned. It explained the calluses on his fingers and how sure he was with them. The deep tone of his cello resonated in your chest the same way his voice used to when he held you close. Suddenly you had a favorite instrument. He would stay up with you and your friends into the early morning singing ( _of course he sang like an angel too_ ) and playing music, bonding with everyone the way you had first bonded with them in the days after he left. It was deeply disconcerting to be doing the thing you used to get over Peter _with_ Peter. It was like putting a band-aid on a broken leg. Hilariously ineffective. You became uneasy in these sessions, your voice would falter, crack, then get quieter until you eventually stopped singing. It didn't help that you and your friends had ( _by unfortunate coincidence_ ) recently started doing covers of love songs. It’d be too conspicuous to ask them to stop. You and Jess lived in different dorms, and since the night -despite its beauty- was a dangerous place to be alone, one would always end up walking the other home. Jess, acutely aware of how you were reacting to Peter’s presence, would join you in meticulous analysis of his every move from each night. Was he looking at you during that song? Was he sitting across from you to be away from you or to have the best line of sight? Why did he suggest _that_ song? Was he singing to you that time? Of course you didn’t know, but it helped to have someone to hash it out with. You did know that his laughter, his voice, the smiles you used to feel on against your lips, and the jokes you made together all tasted like ash in your throat when he wasn’t _yours_.

You only spoke in person. Texting was… It wasn’t an option. The way you didn’t have to look at him gave too much opportunity for risky messages and impulsive decisions. No way were you gonna let yourself send a desperate “ _Kiss me_.” at 2 in the morning. Once burned and all that. You’d taken precautions against it, like changing his contact name and asking Jess to spritz you with spray bottle if you tried to message him. You’d covered all the bases. Or so you thought..

 

            **Peter (DO NOT TEXT)** : hey y/n

 

It was relatively early in the night, and Peter had left a jam session not 10 minutes ago. Ominous. You reached over and gripped Jess’ arm, directing her attention to your phone.

 

 **Peter (DO NOT TEXT)** : I need a favor

 **You** : …

 **You** : I’m listening.

 **Peter (DO NOT TEXT)** : can you

 **Peter (DO NOT TEXT)** : can you come cuddle me tonight? like we used to?

 **Peter (DO NOT TEXT)** : I’m uh. I’m going through a lot and I need a platonic cuddle buddy

 **Peter (DO NOT TEXT)** : you don’t have to, it’s just.

 **Peter (DO NOT TEXT)** : you were the first person I thought of

           

            Jess raised one eyebrow and you, halfway out of your chair, sat back down. She sighed and said, “You _know_ what happened last time, y/n. You and I both know. I don’t want to see you that distraught again. He hasn’t texted you since then so why now? Peter is… I think he’s using you.” You couldn’t tell if you wanted to laugh or cry. You couldn’t care less if he was using you in that moment. The only thing that kept your common sense in charge was that you knew would’ve broken if he held you again. You didn’t want to sob in his arms. You couldn’t show him that weakness. You couldn’t stand to hear his heart next to you after he’d broken yours so recently. Even imagining the smell of him twisted that knife in your gut. In playing music with him, you’d found out it was poisoned knife. With spikes. On fire. Jess was right, you couldn’t do this. You didn’t want to think about if he’d been using you. You didn’t think Peter could ever be that type of person but you also knew you were hopelessly in love with him, so your judgment wasn’t exactly objective. All you could do was text him a curt apology and go straight to bed. You cried that night anyway, into your pillow. You didn’t want to consider that you being the first person he thought of meant there could be a second. Thank god Katherine didn’t give a shit about you, it meant you could cry freely.

            That morning, you found out why he’d disappeared those two weeks. On your walk to breakfast you found Peter waiting for you in the dorm lobby. He stammered until you took pity. “Pete… do you want to come to breakfast with me?”

“No, I. Not today. Can we go somewhere? Somewhere where we can talk?” Well, shit. Two minutes and a corner outside the dorm later, he spoke again. For the first time in weeks you were able to hold his gaze. “Y/n, do you remember those 2 weeks where I wasn’t here?”

“…Yes. Vividly.” His ears went red and his hand went to the back of his neck. He looked down.

“I’m sorry, I know you- I want to explain.” You found yourself folding your arms around yourself, hoping the pressure would comfort you. After a long half hour of rambling, he spat it out. “Y/n, you know the Spider-Man?” He had talked himself red in the face by now, and he took a ragged breath before looking back into your eyes. “I’m him. He’s me. You see,” You didn’t hear the rest though. You were too busy trying to hold your body up. Holy shit. Ho-ly shit. _Of course he was Spider-Man_. You should’ve been more surprised, but then again you couldn’t have imagined anyone else who could do it Did anyone else have the love for humanity required for the job? Did anyone else have the strength to handle the worst of New York- and now, you realized, the world- every day? He couldn’t tell you exactly why he was gone or what he did. Apparently Mr. Stark ( _as Peter always called him_ ) was very strict about secrecy. Peter said you your life could be at risk. He murmured, “I care about you a lot, y/n. You know I…” Something got stuck in his throat with that sentence, so he started again. “I’m not keeping this from you because I don’t trust you. I don’t want you to think that for a second. There will come a day when I can tell you, but I have to get rid of the danger first. There’s still… more I have to do.”

His absence wasn’t forever, he assured you. Just for the rest of the semester, he promised. Only a few months, not even a full semeste, just a couple months. Mr. Stark _needed_ him ( _he looked like a kid at a carnival_ ). You didn’t tell him you needed him too. He laid out all his plans for when he got back, as if he was already gone. “I’m going to join the rock climbing club!” Of course he was. Is it cheating to use your powers there? “I’m going to go stargazing” Well, he never slept anyway. “I’m going to start making a schedule.” As if he could schedule being a vigilante, ha. _“Don’t do crime until 1 folks, I’ve got classes until then_?” Sure. It would’ve been cute if you didn’t know that he was putting his life on the line. That he could die before you were able to see him again. To be fair, he could’ve died last time but that time you didn’t have warning.

Before Peter left, Ned got back. Ned started talking to you like he’d never been gone. Since you’d found out about Spider-Man it was different. You still talked about nerd things and so-and-so’s hookup and which professor was busting their student’s asses, but now there was a hearty helping of Peter Parker The Amazing Spider-Man in every conversation. He gushed to you about all of the coolest things Peter had done, how he was the first person - _other than Tony Stark but he didn’t count_ \- to find out, how he was Peter’s guy in the chair for a while, how they were the ones who stopped that weapons dealer. Ned could go for hours about their dream team, it was clearly one of his proudest accomplishments. Somehow, you weren’t surprised when he told you he thought Peter still had feelings for you. He had stopped not-looking at you. You knew he wouldn’t have asked to hold you if he wasn’t… You couldn’t bring yourself to touch him though. You weren’t ready. You started hanging out with Ned more than your friends. You knew they knew why, and you knew they didn’t want you to. Not that they were jealous or anything, fortunately you had better friends than that. Jess only said, “You _know_ what happened last time. I can’t stop you, but you _know_.”

At least you and Ned got to watch Naruto together during his informal investigation. Ned found your commentary hilarious. You loved his reactions. You started messing with him on the first episode. “Shut _up_ , y/n, Naruto isn’t a furry you depraved _fucking_ pervert.” You raised one eyebrow and tried to stifle your grin.

“I mean, he’s _literally_ part fox?” and he laughed. His laugh was raucous, contagious. The more you understood Ned the more you really liked him. You paused during a particularly iconic fight scene ( _one of the millions where Naruto saved the day by screaming Real Loud and getting stronger through Plot Convenience Magic_ ) to answer the question you’d been avoiding.

“Are you going to ask him out?” He’d asked you this question before, in more indirect ways. Being Peter’s _Best Friend_ who moonlighted as his _Guy In The Chair_ , you knew he’d do anything he thought would help Peter’s happiness. Or help him stop sabotaging his own happiness, as Ned put it. It took a few minutes to figure out what to say. Eventually, you spoke.

“I can’t- I _won’t_ push him into anything,” you sighed. “Honestly I want nothing more than to run to him and beg him to take me back, but… I don’t think that’s healthy. I know he has to go, I know he has to be Spider-Man. He might die while he’s gone, Ned. You know that as well as I do. I don’t know if I’d rather lose a boyfriend or a friend, and I can’t make that choice right now. I’ll be there however he wants me. He left me, so… If he wants me… I’m here.” Ned could only nod. You finished the episode in silence. You were still planning to tell Peter again anyway, before he left. Just in case he forgot. Just in case he needed anything from you. By then you realized how true it was that you couldn’t think of a life without him. “ _I love you_ ,” you’d say. “ _I love you and you don’t have to do anything about it. Just know that I would do anything for you. Please be kind with that power. Call me if you need me._ ” You rehearsed variants on that speech in your head every time you saw him. Before the day came though, Ned’s plan succeeded.

            You look back on that day with a melancholy eye. Hindsight showed you it was a… rushed choice. You had been planning to wait until he was back from wherever he was going to really push being together. You didn’t think Peter was going to have the guts to ask you out anyway, and you felt it was good to go slow this time. Still, you couldn’t stop it. It started as Ned’s way of making you two talk. Consistently, this time. You would snuggle up to Ned on his left ( _he was an affectionate and lovely soul_ ) with Peter on his right. Ned was the safety barrier. For something to do, you'd been marathon-ing a bootleg of Brooklyn 99 on Ned’s laptop. It served as the basis for most of your stinted conversations. Things like,

“ _That_ cop is my favorite.”

“Yeah?”

“…Yeah. He makes, like, good jokes.”

"Yeah."

            What else could you talk about after all? As if you could say, “ _Hey Spider-Man, remember you dumped me? Good times right?_ ” There’s no addressing the elephant in the room when it’s that big. Not when it's crushing you to the walls. Anyway. Peter got up suddenly one night, just like he'd done the night he asked to hold you. Your gut twisted. He stood in front of you and Ned and said, “Y/n, can you come with me for a sec? I need to… I have a lot to- can we talk?” You were scared, but he probably didn't have anything more shocking than being Spider-Man to tell you. Anyway, you couldn’t say no to him. You rose slowly, eyes trained on Peter’s poker face. Since when did he have one of those? Ned smiled knowingly as Peter led you to an emergency exit alcove in the dorm hallway. You were terrified. The future you wished you’d listened to your instincts. Despite every bit of fear, when he asked for another try, you said yes. Of course you did. The conversation ended with you kissing him with a tenderness that you hoped proved to him everything you’d said before. A tenderness that said, “ _I’m yours_.” Things still weren't as smooth as they used to be. Peter was on probation. In the few days remaining before he had to ship off to the disaster he couldn't tell you about, you spent lazy afternoons in the winter sun together. You talked about nothing important. You lived like life was a dream. You staved off the nightmare.

            He left you a blue sweater from high school to remember his scent by. It covered your fingers just right, and you wore it until only a whiff of him was left. You wished you could mail it back to him and ask for a recharge or a different sweater. You would've done it too if he was allowed to tell you where he was. He used to send you snapchats of what wasn’t too classified to share. He’d send you pictures of gorgeous waterfalls with his goofy smile in the corner. He’d send you videos of Tony Stark trying to wrestle the phone away from him, grunting some exasperated, almost paternal rebuke. When he couldn't show you where he was, he'd send the words “I miss you” on a black background. He carefully didn't say "I love you." Neither of you had approached the L-word yet. Not yet. Not until he was back and alive. After some begging, Peter managed to get the Avengers headquarters to forward him mail, and you began to write letters to him almost daily. You decorated each envelope with a different work of art. You facetimed him too of course, and the two of you would talk for hours on end. You clung to him desperately. The thought of his death hung over both of you.

Something changed in him. Or, you considered later, maybe nothing changed. Maybe when you weren’t in front of him his hero priorities took over. Fair enough, really. Maybe you hadn’t been that important to start with. Maybe he just liked to have someone devoted to him. Either way, after a month you lapsed into radio silence (aside from the occasional meme). With each day he didn't talk to you you feared the worst, but when you reached out he seemed exasperated that you asked. You tried everything you could before accepting the silence. Silence was safe. Winter break came. You wished you could’ve enjoyed it. You and Ned talked all the time, after all, neither of you could talk to Peter and you couldn't exactly lean on your family ( _or anyone outside the know for that matter_ ). A month before break ended, a month before Peter was due to come back, he finally sent you a letter too. So he was safe. The relief didn't last long. The day of your three-month anniversary he called to break up with you.

“I’m sorry, I… y/n... I don’t know if I want to be with you when I get back. I can’t guarantee- I don’t know-” he sighed and you swore you felt his breath next to you. “I’m sorry.” You choked,  
“I’m still here if you need me.” And in your head, “ _If you even want me._ ” You spent your holidays that year mourning.


	4. Round Two, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's a short one  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kd4QMN_lErc

When you came back from break, he was there. You knew he’d be there. You knew the exact day he’d be back, you’d marked it on your calendar before… before. You had written, “ _(x) days until you’re back!_ ” at the top of every letter. Sometimes you’d done it as a math equation. “ _ax^2-bx-c days until you’re back! (take the positive integer)_ ” You hoped it’d make him laugh. Of course, you avoided him as you had done the first time. You knew the pattern. You knew how much it’d hurt. Jess could only sit and listen as you cried on her shoulder. She was kind enough not to remind you that she’d told you so. You gave Peter’s sweater back, sort of.

**You** : Ned, can you give Peter his sweatshirt back? I’ll leave it outside your room.

 **Coolcat McHat** : yeah, i gotchu

 

Even when you were depressed you made good nicknames. Haha.

 

 **Coolcat McHat** : hey, y/n. do you wanna talk?

 

You didn't. You didn’t even answer his text. Peter had told you in clear terms he wanted nothing to do with you, and you couldn’t bear to be near him again anyway. You couldn’t even bear to talk about him with Ned. How could you look at your soulmate knowing he couldn’t give less of a shit about you? How could you hear his voice without remembering when it sang you to sleep? You couldn’t. For some reason, Peter hadn’t learned the pattern. He didn’t seem to understand. Again, he tried to talk like nothing had happened. You ignored him. You played your part.


	5. Round Three, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> home stretch everyone!! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nH7bjV0Q_44

 

Eventually, you wrote down everything. It started as a catharsis, so you could finally get him out of your head. “Write it like you’re writing to him,” Jess had said. “That way you’ll get to say what you mean without the risk of showing him. It’s safe.” The first words were like torture, it was almost impossible to put words to your feelings, they were so intense, but after you broke the damn the paragraphs poured out of you. You found meaning in what you’d been through with him, you found peace with what had happened, despite how it hurt. You cried as you described how beautiful he was, holding in you both the joy you felt in loving him and the pain you were left with now. You let yourself finally be angry as you detailed what it did to you when he left you, how it stung for him to shelf you like a toy when shit got hard. In rewording these last few months, you found you controlled the narrative for once. You finally had power. You penned four double-sided pages of what you went through with him in a brownish-red gel pen that reminded you of dried blood. It seemed fitting. It also smeared in a way you found dramatically pleasing when your tears fell on it. You wrote the biography of your love. Well, you wrote the abridged version. The biography would’ve been multi-volume. When you read your first stream-of-consciousness-style piece over, you realized you wanted Peter to read it. Despite writing it with the opposite in mind, despite filling it with every ounce of sorrow and vitriol you’d kept hidden, you wanted him to read it. Maybe it was because of the negativity you had at last allowed yourself that you wanted him to see. It was time to be honest with him. You knew he didn’t know what he meant to you. Showing him did mean you had a lot of revising to do. You went through almost half a notebook of paper refining and polishing what you meant, so as to give Peter the most accurate portrait of _you_ since you’d met him. You’d written his portrait enough, you decided.

One warm Tuesday evening, about a week after you’d finished, you finally gathered the courage to show him. Spring was on its way. You felt nature had no right to be happy when you were this anxious. The way the flowers bloomed was altogether too smug in your opinion. Despite the knowledge that it was over, that Peter ( _probably_ ) couldn’t hurt you anymore, that he was ( _probably_ ) the kind of person who would just listen, your gut was doing somersaults. Hell, your gut could be an Olympian with the acrobatics it was executing. It was now or never, though, and you weren’t in a never mood.

 

**You** : Hey, Pete. I need to talk to you. Can you come to the quad?

**Peter** **(DO NOT TEXT)** : …are you ok?

**You** : Yeah, I’m ok I just. I don’t want to not talk to you anymore, it sucks.

**You** : This all sucks.

**You** : It’s not going to be an easy talk but I want closure, if that’s ok by you.

 

A few minutes passed. A few more. Too many. God _damn_ it, you were not waiting for him again.

 

**You** : Peter, say something. You and I both know I’ve waited for you long enough.

 

**Peter (DO NOT TEXT)** : sorry

**Peter (DO NOT TEXT)** :, …sorry

**Peter (DO NOT TEXT)** : yeah I can come

**Peter (DO NOT TEXT)** : I’ll let you know when

 

With that kind of response, you weren’t surprised when he texted a few hours later and bailed. You had gone to your room after the first half hour of silence. No way in hell would you sit around out there waiting for him. You were still a mess though, knowing that something will happen doesn’t make it any less terrible. He asked Jess how you were doing ( _you knew this because Jess told you everything relevant he said to her. Mainly so you could prepare yourself if he tried to see you._ ) Oblivious idiot that he was, he took “ _Peter, y/n is at a 6/10 on the fucked up scale_ ” to mean “ _Everything’s dandy, definitely go set up that meeting spot!_ ” Logically, you should hate him. He asked to see you Thursday of that same week. Logically, you should’ve stayed in. You feet crunched on the last straggling winter twigs. Logically, it was over. You sat down, your phone told you it was twenty minutes before Peter wanted to meet. How could you not see him? Ignoring Peter was as hard as ignoring gravity. Fifteen minutes into your breathing exercises, you heard footsteps. You looked up, and there was his honest, stupid, beautiful face. There was that curly hair blowing in the light breeze, there was that way he moved, so subtly graceful. There was that boy you loved. You almost ran then. After avoiding him, the sheer effect of his presence hit you harder than a train. Still, you stayed seated. He didn’t say anything. As he sat across from you ( _God, when would the two of you stop repeating the past_ ) you handed him the paper and gave him a rundown of their contents. Just in case he didn’t want to read them, just in case he wasn’t ready for it after all.

He held the pages as though they’d explode if he moved them wrong, and read slowly. You didn’t expect him to read it in front of you, you’d expected a kind of delivery-and-dash scenario. You didn’t expect him to look so cry. You didn’t expect him to apologize. “Y/n, why didn’t you tell me? I’m so sorry. I’m so- you didn’t deserve- God, I. I’m so sorry.” His voice was raw. He stuttered variations on his apology like a skip in a record. You didn’t expect it to hurt like this. Your love was crying. You wanted to kiss him whole again, but you couldn’t make yourself touch him. He lapsed into silence for a few moments, and after he wiped his tears, he spoke again. “You wanted closure, right? I can tell you why I was… why I did that. If you want.” He didn’t tell you details, they were classified ( _of course_ ), but… it was brutal. Near the end of his mission, something, “I can’t tell you what,” had ripped into his side so deep he thought he wouldn’t make it. You’d known it was possible for him to have been mortally injured, he told you it could happen, but you - having never lost anyone close to you before - hadn’t realized death was a real thing that could happen to someone you loved. The reality of it was horrifying. He showed you the huge and gnarled dark pink scar down his abdomen. You wanted to kiss him whole again. He had cut you off, in his words, “Because I have to be- I’m responsible for things. I can’t - You know?” He couldn’t get the words out, but you knew. He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting anyone, so he pushed them away, the misguided fool. You wanted to fling your arms around his shoulders and cry. You wanted to apologize. You wanted to beg him to take you back again, you wanted to kiss his face over and over and over- but you couldn’t. Not only because it would burn like a fairy touching iron, but because you didn’t know if he still… if he still wanted you like that. The time wasn’t right to do anything romantic.

You spent the next 8 hours together regardless, just like before… before. You had a lot of catching up to do in the aftermath of your mutual trauma. It was strained, though. You both wanted to forget. You tried in vain to return to the time before everything got messed up, tangled in your need to be a hero and Peter’s scars. Neither of you could, though. He now knew exactly the ways his actions had cut apart your heart. It’s hard to go back act like nothing’s wrong when you know you’ve devastated someone. You weren’t the same person he’d met in September. You knew not exactly, but enough of the horror Peter had faced while he was gone. You knew he had faced death, not like when he was in high school. Death had marked him this time. It’s wasn’t as if you could cuddle and talk about what tv show to watch next or the absurdity of the cosmos or whatever was on your minds, because the only thing on your minds was what went wrong. It couldn’t be like before. The two of you were raw. You had used the phrase, “walking scab” to describe it in what you wrote him. Each pause felt like a missed opportunity. Each pause was an eternity.

Despite this soul-sharing, you drifted. Again. You’d bared yourselves and moved away to heal, though you didn’t expect him to come back this time. The pattern would play out, no matter what you did. You’d only see him if you tried, you knew, and you didn’t want to chase fantasy anymore. Of course, still you felt the same. You’d tried for almost a year to stop feeling for him, and you’d become resigned to the fact that it was never going to work. Slowly there came a balance in your heart. Sure, he may not want to see you, but at least he was happy, right? At least you both knew how, what, and why. At least you could rest easy knowing he was safe. As the weeks passed you could see him again without feeling that knife in your heart. You could hear his voice without stifling tears ( _weren’t you done with those_?). It was… tolerable. It was tolerable now that you knew each meeting wasn’t likely to be your last. The pain numbed, ever so slowly. Ever so slowly. Your friends said to be careful, of course. They knew the pattern as well as you. Your friends said fire is fire, no matter how pretty. God, he was pretty.


	6. Round Three, Part Two (finale!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking around!! This is my first actual fanfiction and I really appreciate all of you for reading this and taking a gamble on an inexperienced writer like me! I hope you like the ending <3  
> https://vimeo.com/13527917 (I know, not a YouTube link! this is kind of the song that sparked this whole thing)

Near the end of the year, as spring turned to summer and the nights became warm, you were back to spending them together. Not like you used to. Not late night movies like the first time, not Ned-chaperoned tv like the second time, just the two of you and night. You had a habit of sitting on the hill by the library at ungodly hours in the morning ( _you were a night owl, it had been a major factor in those first five days with him_ ), and he would join you after his “shifts”, as he called them. You had wondered why someone from Midtown would stay so close to NYC, it turned out he had a nightly habit of suiting up, riding on top of trucks to his hometown, and fitting in a few hours of patrol. Just in case, he’d said. You had always shared a love of the night. At first, it was only once. He had come across you on his way back to his room, and sat with you. You thought it was a dream the next morning, but he showed up a few nights later and did it again. Slowly, it became your routine. You’d get a bowl of cereal ( _the only thing available in your school’s cafeteria this late_ ) and caught up about classes and other minutia. After you gave each other bullet point summaries of your days, you’d sit and stare at the stars, occasionally punctuating silence with short bursts of conversation. Nothing important, but it didn’t have to be. His voice was enough for you. Even when you didn’t speak, his presence steadied you. Silence had always been natural with him. Once you became more secure that he wasn’t going to vanish like he had before, you delved deeper into conversation. He began reading parts of his journal to you. He would show you his photography. He took at least one photo daily. In a way he kept two journals, one written and one visual. He’d tell you all the stories behind the photos, what the leaves had reminded him of in this shot and how so-and-so’s position had been so candid and beautiful. You in turn would show him your latest sketches or play him the songs you’d been thinking of that day. You skipped the drawings about him. You’d shown him a sketch you made during the first breakup once, and his face had fallen. You had thought it tame, but you realized afterwards that a person dissolving probably wasn’t the most comforting sight. To you that feeling was done, you’d already drawn it out, but to Peter it must’ve looked like you still suffered like that. You weren’t peachy, but it wasn’t like that any more. You became bolder. When you were lying side-by-side on the grass, you’d look at Peter, when you thought he wasn’t looking. You thought he might be doing the same.

Tonight had yielded little conversation. You’d both had a long day, so after some concentrated venting you both lapsed into quiet. After a while, you felt a shift in the air. The silence had developed a thickness to it that you didn’t know how to decipher. Peter lay on your right, at the center of it.

“Y/n.” Peter’s voice was barely a whisper. You turned your head to him, your eyes trying to make out his face in the dark. He clearly noticed, but kept his gaze pointedly on the sky. You rolled off your back got up on your elbows to see him better. He turned his face away from you. What did he want?

“Peter?” He flinched at the sound of your voice like you’d hit him. Oh god. You knew what came next. It had been going so well this time… After a deep breath, he looked at you, finally. There was that guilt you’d become so familiar with. You found you couldn’t breathe. There was another long silence. All you could do was wait for the other person to look away first. Peter lost. You wished he’d cut to the chase and do it already.

“Y/n? How could you forgive me?”                  

“What? Forgive you for what?”

Here it came. He was asking forgiveness in advance this time. Wise. You could feel your heartbeat in your fingertips.

“I keep re-reading what you wrote me-” He cut off. Your heart had already been pounding, but now it thumped for a different reason. He started again, “-and you wrote that you still… you still lo-“ but he choked on that word. “I broke your heart, y/n, I broke it seven ways to Sunday and you said you- I was wondering if. Do you still…?” He swallowed hard. You realized he was wearing the blue sweater he’d given you before he left. Had that been on purpose? “Is it still true?” You almost pinched yourself to see if you were dreaming. This couldn't be real. He had looked back to you now, his eyes were searching your face for any kind of answer. All you felt was confusion. His eyes were brimming with tears. Your heart could’ve shattered. A protective urge blossomed like fire in your ribcage. He was fire. You leaned towards him and his familiar scent almost made you cry. Your breathing was unsteady. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears now. It hurt to watch this. If he meant what you thought he meant….

“Peter, you idiot. No- don’t- I don’t think you’re an idiot, sorry. Tasteless.” Comforting this boy was like defusing a tear-filled bomb. Botched that one. Take two. “Peter… I told you before, you know. I told you again in the letter. I couldn’t stop if I tried. I couldn’t stop loving you.”

You didn’t expect those words to break him like that. You were kind of hoping for the opposite, but it was too late now. He curled himself into a ball, back towards you, and cried like you’d never seen him cry before. Not even when left you the first time. Not even when he had to leave the second time to go to what could’ve been his death. Not even when he read what you wrote him after. Spider-Man, hero of New York and now the world ( _though the Avengers’ policy meant the world would never know it_ ) was crying in front of you. The boy who had faced death a thousand times over was crying in front of you. Parker was crying in front of you. _Your_ Peter Parker. Your dearest. Your brain scrambled for any way to comfort him as the sobs wracked his body. You couldn’t bear it. You shifted so you were sitting on your knees. Slowly, so as not to startle him, you lightly laid your left hand on his back. You hadn’t touched him since before he’d left, and you were worried this would make things worse, but he didn’t flinch. You let your touch become firm as you rubbed slow circles across his shoulder blades until they stopped heaving and his shaking subsided. When you were sure he wouldn’t start again you moved your hand to his shoulder and gently guided him out of the knot he’d tangled himself in. He didn’t look at you. Tears were still coursing down his face. How could you fix this? What had you done? How could you undo it? With the same hand you cupped his cheek, wiping some of the tears away with your thumb. You tried to smile. “Hey. Look at me.”

“God, look at _me_ , y/n. How could _I_ be worthy of you? Why would you want to deal with _this_?” His voice cracked. “ _Look_ at me. I’m a _fucking_ mess. I fucked up everything- I ruined everything with you, I loved you and I couldn’t even do it right- I-” He cut off as he realized what he said, his hands flew to his mouth like he could stuff it back in. As if he thought it was a bad thing. Ha! Leave it to you to fall for the dumbest genius around. How could he still think you couldn’t love him? You moved slowly, afraid of triggering another storm of tears, and placed one hand on either side of his head. He closed his eyes tight. He had stopped crying, but could see him shaking again. We couldn’t have that now, could we. Firm though his grip was, it only took your lightest touch to move his hands from his mouth and guide his face back towards yours. You leaned down until your lips were almost against his, and then further. Of course you kissed him. It was chaste, sweeter than honey (“ _I’d never want once from the cherry tree_ ” crooned Hozier in your head). At last he kissed you back. Oh, god, did he kiss you back. You had to try not to laugh, not only because you were so _damn_ happy, but because the closest thing you could compare it to was that bizarre scene in Ratatouille where the rat (whatever his name was) took bites of different foods and had what appeared to be visual hallucinations. You felt all the months of pain in that kiss; you felt all the longing you’d shared. You felt him smile into your touch like he used to. Most importantly, you felt your heart melting back together. There was finally warmth again in your chest. You could feel warmth again. When you finally pulled back, you realized the world was back in focus. All the senses that had numbed in his absence sprung back into vibrant awareness. The stars were bright, you could smell the grass on the hillside, and there was color like you hadn’t seen since... before. But before was over now. When you finally pulled back, he reached for your face reverently, rubbing his thumb over your cheek as you had done moments ago.

“I forgave everything long ago, my love.” Your voice was low, quiet, and calm. You were simultaneously calmer and more excited than you’d felt in months. You could feel your energy nearly bubbling over in your chest. Peter had stopped crying, at last. After a long moment of the both of you smiling uncontrollably, the hand he’d been using to caress your face circled round to the back of your neck and pulled you down to him as gently as if you were made of glass. As if one wrong move could undo everything. As if he hadn’t already made all the wrong moves and survived. As if you hadn’t done the same. You almost laughed again.

Peter kissed you. This time, desperately. He did away with the purity of your last kiss, flicking his tongue across your bottom lip before he slipped it against yours. You were fully above him by now, leaning over him but not resting your weight on him. His other hand came up to the small of your back as light as a feather, and guided your body down to rest on his chest. You adjusted your legs so you were straddling one of his. The hand that still held the back of your neck squeezed subtly as you began to comb one hand through his curls the way you knew he liked, resting the other just below where his chest became his collarbone. As you found his favorite spot and pulled, Peter moaned softly against your lips. His grip on you became firmer, more confident, more hungry. He rolled the two of you over without apparent effort ( _right, super-strength_ ) and used his right hand to pin your hands above your head, his thigh directly between your legs. He paused a moment, just a moment, to take in the sight of you flushed and expectant. You bit your lip. He growled low ( _mmmmyes_ ) and went back to work. All you could do was clutch his back and bite back your pleasure as he kissed along your jawline and worked his way down your neck. _God_ , he was better than he had any right to be. He was light at first, but as he moved down he became rougher, nipping and marking you in exactly the way you loved, each moan he elicited spurring him on. You arched your back, grinding involuntarily against him. His breath caught in his throat and released with a noise halfway between a sigh and a prayer. You tried to etch that sound into your memory permanently, but he distracted you. You’d be mad if it didn’t feel so damn good. He trailed his kisses from your neck down your collarbones towards your sternum, pulling the collar of your shirt and-

The sprinklers turned on. You both jumped at the familiar pfft-pfft-pfft of the water and froze like you’d been caught. Peter took advantage of your shock-induced stillness to launch a tickle attack. The _bastard_. You burst out laughing, trying almost completely ineffectively to get him back. Sprinklers forgotten, you went all-out. Neither of you could care less about getting wet at this point; you had been touch-starved for too long to let go of each other. Of course you didn’t bother to move out of the spray, and you didn’t stop your tickle-war until the sprinklers turned off again. You lay under him, exhausted, gasping for breath and cursing between intervals of laughter. He buried his head in your chest, over your heart, and wove the fingers of his left hand between the fingers of your right. You would’ve looked like dancers, if you weren’t two sleep-deprived half-horny dorks on a soggy hill. As you clutched each other in the soaking aftermath, you both rode out the giggles into calm. You’d be cold, on any other night. You’d be shivering, even. On any other night though – at least until now – you hadn’t had Peter. Adjusting himself so his head nuzzled under your chin, he mumbled, for the first time, “I love you.” You stiffened. “…y/n?”

“…Say it again.”

Louder, this time, he said “I love you.”

You were glad he couldn’t see the tears forming, even if they were from happiness. You had discovered your favorite sound in the world. “One more time, please.”

Peter raised himself up on one elbow and untangled his hand from yours to brush your hair from your face. Well, he could see your tears now. “ _I_ love you.” He pressed his lips reverently against your forehead. “I _love_ you.” He kissed your tears. “I love _you_.” He kissed your lips, long and slow. He rested his forehead against yours. You could just make out his smile in the moonlight, his hair a wild silhouette against the stars. "Always forever."

“ _I love you, too_.” You whispered.

 


End file.
